Harry Potter is an Astronaut
by Execrator
Summary: Just as the title says. Harry Potter is an astronaut working for NASA. One-shot, AU, Non-magic.


3. . .2. . .1. . ._liftoff._

Harry Potter was pressed back against his seat as the rocket blasted off. He had experienced the thrill of takeoff many times before, but it was still an awesome experience. He turned his head to the left to see how his rookie companion was doing in the seat next to him. John Carson had his eyes screwed shut and was turning slightly green.

Harry faced forward again. Liftoff was the most mentally and physically demanding part of the journey. Weightlessness was fun and easy to get used to, and the return to earth afforded such a sense of relief that the physical aspect of it was easy to ignore. But, even after nine previous flights into space, the thrill of liftoff was paired with the inescapable notion that you might never set foot on planet Earth again.

There was a sudden decrease in volume as the boosters deactivated. Free from Earth's gravitational clutches, Harry could feel his arms drifting away from the armrests. He took another glance at Carson. Carson now had his eyes open and was looking out the window interestedly.

"Doing alright there, rookie?" Harry asked playfully.

"Those simulators don't even come close to replicating the real thing." Carson remarked by way of reply. His voice was slightly weak.

Harry unbuckled himself from his seat and floated towards the sleeping quarters. He was curious to see if Callahan, the project coordinator, had taken his request for extra pillows seriously. He reached the door and turned the handle. The room was adorned plainly but pleasantly. There had been a lot of progress made in making the living and sleeping quarters more homey in the ten years that Harry had been doing space flights.

But there were no extra pillows. When he got back to earth, he would ask Callahan why his request had been denied. Callahan would probably say something about the budget, which was the excuse for everything these days. The American public was simply not as interested in space as they had been in the 1960's, and the government had cut NASA's funding accordingly.

Harry left the sleeping quarters and went towards the galley. He was hungry.

The kitchen area was sparse and utilitarian, containing only a microwave, a few cupboards and drawers, and a refrigerator. Harry opened the fridge and picked out a packet of tuna salad. He rummaged through the cupboards until he found some sliced bread, which was contained in vacuum-sealed packages. He fashioned himself a sandwich and floated into the lounge, where he strapped himself to one of the couches. He thought back to his first space flight, when he had endured two weeks of nothing but food-concentrate pastes and Tang powdered-drink mix.

Harry grabbed the velcro-secured remote from the coffee-table in front of him. Putting a TV in the ship had been another recent innovation. Only the sturdiest of electronics would be able to withstand the immense forces of liftoff, so for a long time it was thought that the fragile inner workings of a large-screen television set would never see the realm of space. The technicians back at NASA were still working on making computers space-resistant; with the advent of solid-state disk drives, it was reasonable to think that in the next decade or so, astronauts would be able to surf the internet and play video games while in space.

Harry idly flipped through the channels. Most of the programs seemed so irrelevant when you were thousands of miles away from their settings. Harry finally settled on college basketball. BYU vs. Idaho State. How would BYU's much-vaunted zone coverage fare against Idaho's explosive offensive attack?

After a few minutes Carson drifted into the lounge from the kitchen. He looked a lot more chipper than he had after the liftoff. He had a squirt-bottle of Heineken in one hand and a stick of beef jerky in the other. "Wow, I didn't think that Callahan actually took me seriously when I said I wanted beef jerky up here. . .he probably just went out to the gas station and bought a bunch. . .is that the BYU game?" Carson strapped himself into a recliner and squirted a small amount of the beer into his mouth, swallowing quickly before it assumed the sphere-like shape that all liquids acquired while in zero-g. "How about that Valdez? His 3-point percentage is phenomenal this year."

Harry and Carson watched the game and occasionally exchanged commentary. After the game, Harry unstrapped himself. "Well, I suppose we'd better get to work. They didn't send us up here to watch sports, after all."

Carson looked slightly crestfallen. "I wish my inaugural mission was something more interesting than studying bacteria. I would have liked to go on a spacewalk."

Harry and Carson floated silently into the lab. Harry worked his way over to the refrigeration unit where the germ-filled petri dishes were kept. He grabbed the topmost two and floated back to Carson, who was setting up the microscopes. Harry waited until Carson finished this task before handing him a petri dish labeled "E. Welchii Spirellium". Carson mumbled a quick "thanks" before turning away and beginning his research.

Harry took his dish, labeled "Coprii Nigellum", and slid it under the microscope. He stuck his eye to the eyepiece and watched with disinterest as the bacteria wiggled feebly. They were supposed to be investigating bacterial reproductive cycles and how they were affected by low gravity. Harry grabbed a #2 pencil from his pocket (the mechanics of standard ink pens failed in the low-gravity environ of space and custom-designed space pens were ridiculously expensive) and began to take notes on the yellow legal pad at his side.

A few hours passed where the only break in the monotony was when either Harry or Carson went to get another bacteria sample. No words were exchanged until Carson said abruptly, "My eyes are starting to burn, I think I'm going to call it quits for today." He floated towards the door that led back to the main hallway. Harry followed a few minutes later, thinking he would try to get in his regulation-mandated exercise before dinner.

He floated casually to the "workout" room, which was simply equipped with two stationary bikes, each of which had a harness-like contraption above it. Harry strapped himself into the harness and began pedaling. This was his least favorite part of space flight, but he knew why it had to be done; without at least some exertion, the muscles in his legs would have completely atrophied by the time he returned home.

Carson came in a half-hour later, smelling strongly of peanut butter.

Harry couldn't think of anything appropriate to say, so he didn't say anything at all. He continued to stare impassively forward. Carson didn't seem to mind. He strapped himself into his own harness and began to pedal slowly.

A few minutes later, Carson broke the silence. "Sometimes I ask myself why I signed up for this. I thought it was going to be exciting, but after the first few hours of weightlessness, you really get tired of it."

Harry grunted. Rookies were always like this.

Carson continued. "I suppose it's better than being a high-school biology teacher, though."

Silence ensued. Soon, Harry was done with his allotted hour and disengaged himself from the harness. He floated out the door and into the kitchen to fix himself some dinner. He picked out a filet mignon and a container of frozen french fries, along with a small squeeze-bottle of Jack Daniels. He always indulged on the first day of a mission.

The filet mignon required 15 minutes in the microwave. To pass the time, Harry went to the small library which was adjacent to the lounge. The book selection was feeble as always, despite his constant suggestions; all the titles were at least five years out-of-date. He picked out a book of crossword puzzles, flipped through it until he found one that hadn't been started or completed yet, and pulled out his pencil. Crossword puzzles were a minor passion of Harry's, and the ones in this book were designed for beginners, so he finished just as his filet mignon did.

He got up and went to the microwave. He took out the steak and put in the fries, which only need thirty seconds. He grabbed an adhesive plate from the cupboard and some silverware from the drawer. As soon as the fries finished, he pressed them onto the plate individually so that they would stick. The adhesive layer on the plate was tasteless and smell-less, but it was still a bit weird to have to force your food to stay on your plate. Most of the time it just wasn't worth the effort do eat a proper meal like this.

Harry ponderously cut up and ate his steak. It was pretty bad by filet mignon standards, but by space-food standards it was excellent. Back at home he could have all the steak he wanted, being a handsomely-paid astronaut, but it was a different thing to be pampered in space. He pondered these things as he finished up his french fries and downed the Jack Daniels in one long squirt.

Since the standard terrestrial system of night and day was inapplicable while in space, Harry felt justified in going to bed even though it was only the equivalent of around 8:00. He got up from his chair and floated down the hallway to his quarters. Sleeping in space was hard to get used to, but he thought he would be able to fall asleep fairly quickly. He usually didn't use the limb-restraints that were designed to keep his limbs from floating, but the first night in space after a few months in normal gravity was always the toughest. He took off his glasses and changed into his pajamas, which were adorned with little rocket ships. Juvenile, but Harry thought they were cute.

As soon as he was strapped and velcroed into bed, he flicked the light switch and was plunged into darkness. He had used a nightlight for his first few missions - another juvenile thing - because being in a small dark room with the knowledge that you were floating in empty space with only a thin metal tube protecting you was not a comforting thought. But Harry was accustomed to this disconcerting notion and was asleep fairly quickly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**Author's Notes**

That's it. I hope you enjoyed. Yes, I know this story has nothing to do with anything. It's 1700 words of banality. You can think of it as avant-garde, or the fanfiction equivalent of abstract art, or something.

I would like it if you leave a review, even if you think this "fic" was a total waste of your time. Honestly, it probably was. You probably just want to go back to reading _real_ fanfiction. I don't blame you.

If I made any errors regarding the logistics and technicalities of space flight, forgive me. If you can't forgive me for wasting your time, at least forgive me for that. :)


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